Seeing is Believing
by Shipperx
Summary: Sometimes you can't believe your eyes.


TEASER

Miz Myree's Bar-B-Q

Birmingham, Alabama

11:12am CST

The vinyl floor had a thin brown film on it that 

Jimmy Reardon couldn't identify, but it made his 

shoes stick to the floor.  He shuffled his feet a 

little then stepped to the left hoping to find a 

clean spot that didn't stick. As he impatiently 

waited for his number to be called, Jimmy glanced 

over his shoulder to look out the window then back 

to woman standing behind the register.  Would the 

cow just hurry up?  This was taking forever and he

didn't have time to waste.  

She handed some redneck his change and  closed the 

cash register.  

"Finally!" Jimmy thought as he moved one step closer 

to the counter.

His partner, Mark Hoyte, jabbed him in the shoulder.  

"Gotta go," he said.

Jimmy looked at Hoyte in disbelief. "Go?  We still 

haven't gotten our food."

Hoyte grabbed Jimmy's elbow with one hand and pointed 

to  the large plate glass window with the other.  In 

the blinding sunlight beyond the glass, Jimmy saw a 

white car with yellow and green writing saying the 

"Shelby County Sheriff."   

Swallowing a golf ball sized lump in his throat, 

Jimmy agreed. "Gotta go." Then--wouldn't you know 

it--the cow  called his order.

Hoyte shook his head. "No way."

"It's Miz Myree's pie,"  Jimmy protested as he ran 

to the counter, grabbing the plain white bag holding 

slices of chocolate pie in small Styrofoam boxes as

Hoyte made a disgusted sound as he lunged for the 

back door.  As he flung it open the hinges gave a

pained creak and Hoyte and Jimmy found themselves

face with a deputy aiming a pistol at them.  From

out of nowhere, Hote produced a gun of his own and

shot the deputy in the face.  Miz Myree's patrons

started screaming and Jimmy stood transfixed.

Nausea rolled through Jimmy.  Sick and shaken Jimmy

stepped over the body lying at his feet as Hoyte

dragged him out the door.

"Get a move on, if you don't wanna end up just like 

him," Hoyte growled. Without looking back Hoyte ran 

to the stolen red pickup leaving Jimmy to realize if 

he didn't follow he'd take the fall for the sheriff's 

murder. 

Still clutching the paper bag filled with pie, 

Jimmy jumped over the bloody goo on the sidewalk.

Brains, he thought. It's the poor bastard's brains.

It was a disturbing thought.

The red pickup roared to life.  Damn it, if he wasn't

careful Hoyte would leave him here.  Jimmy dove into 

the flat bed of the truck just as Hoyte slammed the

car into gear and hit the accelerator to speed out of 

the parking lot.

Sirens wailed behind them as Hoyte turned the corner 

to Cahaba River Road.  With a sudden burst of speed 

the old truck careened down the pothole ridden street

causing Jimmy to lose his grip on his bag.  He made a 

grab for the Styrofoam boxes but they slid into the 

back of the cab with a splat. Chocolate and thick, 

white whipping cream made a Rorschach pattern against

the dirty red paint before rolling into a heartbreaking 

puddle on the floor. 

"Asshole," Jimmy shouted at Hoyte through the open 

cab window.  "You're gonna get us killed *and* you 

ruined my pie!"

"Get over it," Hoyte snapped.

"Yeah well--"  Jimmy's eyes widened when he saw the

crowded intersection looming up ahead.  "What the 

hell are you doin'?"

"What's it look like? It's a car chase."

"Chase," Jimmy screeched.  "As in movin,' as in actual 

forward motion.  That's Highway 280. Ain't nothin' 

moving up there."  Jimmy saw the cops gaining on them.  

"You know instead of wrecking this piece of crap on 280, 

you could just park here."  He peeked through the cab 

window and windshield.  "'Cause from where I'm sittin' 

280 at lunch and a parkin' lot are pretty much the 

same thing."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Sure you do. 'Cause there's nothin' more helpful 

when running away from the police than getting' stuck 

in a traffic jamb with a bunch of Inverness yuppies 

goin' to lunch."  Suddenly Jimmy was slung across 

the bed of the truck as Hoyte made a sharp right turn.  

"Hey!"   Cool stickiness seeped through Jimmy's pants.  

It was his pie.  

Well this sucks, Jimmy thought.

The sirens grew louder as Jimmy clung to the side of

the truck.  

"Looks like the Jefferson County Sheriff made friends 

with the city police."  Then Jimmy caught sight of the 

traffic light turning red. "Uh, Hoyte. . ."  

Hoyte didn't slow down. 

"Hey, Hoyte!"

Hoyte hit the accelerator. 

"Oh sh--"  

Cars screeched to a halt, skidding and spinning as 

the red pickup crossed six lanes of traffic. Somewhere

behind them Jimmy heard a crash and noticed a Lexus 

careening into a Mercedes.   He snickered.  A pair of

rich assholes were going to be majorly pissed. 

Tires squealed as Hoyte steered the truck through the 

intersection then plummeted down the hill on the 

opposite side of the highway.  The Cahaba River moved 

sluggishly beside the small, vestigial remnant of the 

old U.S. 280 which had been replaced by the newer 

six lane version above.  Jimmy noticed one sheriff's 

car had made it through the traffic snarl and was 

closing in behind them.

Okay, not feeling good about this, Jimmy admitted to 

himself. As escapes went, this one wasn't.  

"What in the hell are you doing *now*?!" Jimmy 

demanded as Hoyte swerved off the road and onto a 

dirt road that ran by the river.  "Where does this 

go?  Hoyte?"  Jimmy started pounding on the glass 

of the cab.  "Hoyte!"

The truck came to an abrupt halt, throwing Jummy 

across the bed of the truck as Hoyte jumped out

and ran.

"What the--" the first thought to cross Jimmy's mind 

was to tackle Hoyte, drag him to the ground, and beat 

the crap out of him, but then he saw the white, yellow, 

and tan sheriffs car bouncing along the red clay road.

"I'm so screwed."  Jimmy jumped out of the back of 

the truck, threw open the door and climbed into the 

drivers seat before realizing the full extent of what 

Hoyte had done.  "You stole the goddamned keys!"  he 

screamed. 

Stumbling out of the truck, Jimmy made an instantaneous

decision and followed Hoyte as he scrambled down the 

river embankment. Sliding on the dirt and gravel, 

Jimmy found himself on his hands and knees on a narrow

shoal at the edge of the river that more closely 

resembled a large creek. Hoyte was less than ten yards 

ahead of him which was a good thing for Hoyte because 

if he wasn't, Jimmy would be throttling him.  

"Don't move!" a commanding voice insisted.

Jimmy looked back at Sheriff's deputy aiming his gun

at him.  

Just like I thought, I'm screwed, Jimmy realized.  

Now all he wanted was Hoyte to be screwed as well.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder to where Hoyte was 

running down the river bank and. . .

"What the hell?" The deputy looked as stunned as 

Jimmy felt.  Their gazes met.  "Did you just see 

that?" The deputy asked.

Oh yeah.  Jimmy had seen it.  He didn't believe it, 

but he had seen it.

The sheriff blinked. "That guy just disappeared." 

ACT I

Assistant Director Skinner's Office

J. Edgar Hoover Building

Washington, DC 

12:46pm EST

Special Agent Dana Scully almost felt the moment 

A.D. Skinner's gaze left her to settle on something 

directly behind her. She  glanced over her shoulder 

to find a dour face she hadn't seen in several weeks 

and could have gone several more weeks without seeing.

Just behind her stood Assistant Director Kersh.

Kersh made made a dismissive gesture with his hand.  

"Don't let me interrupt. Please, continue."

Scully looked to Skinner who nodded.   She resisted 

the urge to lick her lip or swallow.  She refused 

to display discomfort. Resting her back against her 

seat, Scully said calmly, "I was finished."

She was aware of Mulder's disbelieving glance

in her direction. "You weren't finished," he

said softly.

Scully arched a brow. She wasn't? Scully didn't say 

anything.  She had no desire to contradict Mulder 

in front of others, but she meant what she had said.  

Over the years Scully had learned she preferred the

X-Files to present a unified front to their superiors. 

So often it felt like it was the two of them against 

the world, but even a unified front needed to take 

into account hers and Mulder's vastly different 

personalities.  She shot Mulder a glance that said 

she was most definitely finished.

Skinner nodded and closed the file, but Scully 

could see the muscles continuing to clench in 

Mulder's jaw.

Skinner calmly interrupted the silence. "That's 

all, Agents."

Scully saw tension in the set of Mulder's shoulders

as he rose to stand.  Out of the corner of her eye 

Scully saw Kersh take the seat Mulder had vacated as 

she and her partner left the room.

Once in the hall Mulder's frustration burst to the 

surface.  "You weren't finished."

Scully dusted a non-existent speck of lint from 

the sleeve of her black jacket.  "In what way, 

was I not finished?"

"Ankhesenamen's mummy moved."

"I never saw it move."

Mulder folded his arms. "Then explain the reason 

the infant mummy was found in its arms."

"I don't know.  I don't know who would place the

mummy fetus there, but I seriously doubt it was

the adult female mummy. Most probably it was one

of the museum workers."

"The mummy moved."

"The mummy could not move, Mulder.  That's 

impossible."

"And extreme possibility."

"Impossible."

Mulder circled her slowly.  "I concede to the 

unlikelihood--"

"The impossibility," she countered.

"The *unlikelihood* of the mummy moving but there's

still the questions surrounding two dead museum 

workers."

"They practically ripped the mummy to pieces trying 

to steal the lapis lazuli and gold on the shroud,"

Scully protested.  "They suffered massive exposure

to Aspergillus.  They died of bacterial infections 

caused by the Actinomycetes."

"And the dead archeologist?"

"Paleopathologist."  Scully had actually felt some 

solidarity with the paleopathologist not only because 

her field of work was so similar to Scully's own but 

because. . .Scully sighed.  "Dr. Briers had a 

compromised immune system.  She had breast cancer and 

had chemotherapy.  Being exposed to the mummy, she 

very probably came in contact with spores from the

Aspergillus.  Hypersensitive reactions to those 

spores can cause symptoms identical to bacterial

pneumonia, viral pneumonia, sarcoidosis, and 

heart failure. She did not die of a curse."

Scully impatiently straightened her jacket.  "I 

explained everything in the case report.

"But that wasn't everything," Mulder insisted.

"It's enough."  

Mulder crossed his arms and said dryly, "And 

if you look over your shoulder to the right, you

should have a very nice view of the pyramids."

Denial.  In his strange way, Mulder was accusing 

her of living in denial, of denying what was true

because she couldn't allow herself to believe it.

"What more do you want?" Scully asked.

"The truth, the whole truth and nothing but--

Scully interrupted his dry drawl with a lifted hand.  

"Are you asking whether I believe there was more 

going on in this case than archeological larceny and 

an outbreak of a rare form of bacterial pneumonia?  

Then, yes.  I believe that." 

Even as Mulder opened his mouth to speak, Scully 

pressed onward.  "*But* the FBI doesn't care what I 

believe.  They care what I can prove." She stressed, 

"What *we* can prove."

Mulder shook his head.  "The truth cannot always 

be proven."  He looked down at her.  "Scully, after 

all you have seen, after everything you have 

experienced, I don't understand how you can continue 

to compartmentalize things the way you do."

Scully sighed.  How often and in how many ways could 

she say that she was a scientist?  She was also an 

office of the law.  She had to concern herself with 

the cold, hard facts not supposition.

Mulder nodded though she hadn't said a word.  They 

had been together for so long that Scully didn't 

need to say anything.  Mulder knew the next step 

of the argument as well as she did.

"It's the scientific method." His voice held what 

Scully suspiciously thought was a note of contempt.

"Mulder, as far as the FBI is concerned, belief 

doesn't mean a thing. They want proof."

"We may not always find proof confirming what we 

believe but belief still means something."  His 

words were sharp, quick, and painful as he boarded

the elevator.

Scully asked, "Where are you going?"

"To lunch."

The doors closed behind him leaving Scully to stare 

at her own blurred reflection in the stainless

steel panels of the elevator doors.  She stood there

for a moment feeling breathless and unsettled.  She 

didn't like the sensation at all.

Scully became aware of Skinner standing in his office

doorway with an expression of compassion shadowing

his features even though his voice only contained

clipped professionalism as he requested, "Agent,

would you step into my office."

She saw A.D. Kersh standing just behind Skinner's

shoulder.

              X         X         X

Basement Office

J. Edgar Hoover Building

Washington, DC

1:36pm EST

Her heels clicked against the highly polished but 

still drab gray tile floor, and the sound echoed 

down the empty corridor.  With her hand on the 

doorknob, Scully paused and took a deep breath.  

She knew Mulder was in there.  She felt it...and 

she hated the fact that she hesitated even for a 

moment before opening the door  just as she had 

hated the look of frustration on Mulder's face just 

an hour before.

Scully had seen that expression on Mulder's face 

before, usually it was directed at their superiors 

but sometimes it was directed at herself.  She could 

deal with it. She had in the past and she would in

the future. In many ways it was her role to play ying 

to Mulder's yang.  However, there were times when 

Scully tired of the role.  There were times Scully 

truly *wanted* to believe if for no other reason than 

Mulder did.  

Still, she was what she was, and somewhere in Scully's 

heart she admitted she would always be a hard core 

skeptic.

Light spilled into the office's dark interior as Scully 

opened the door.  For a moment she thought she had been 

wrong and that Mulder wasn't there.  Then she heard 

his deep, well modulated voice.  "Close the door." And 

the familiar ritual began.   

Scully approached Mulder's desk, and he handed her a 

pair of plane tickets before he turned to fiddle with 

his slide projector.

She noticed the tickets were for an afternoon flight 

to Birmingham, Alabama.  Scully eyed Mulder. The case

Skinner had called her into his office to assign had

been in Birmingham.   "You know about this?" 

Flipping a switch, Mulder illuminated a slide.

"Is this a X-File?" she asked.

"I intend for it to be."

No doubt that explained the angry look on Assistant 

Director Kersh's face when she had entered Skinner's 

office.  Scully had thought the case had come to the 

X-Files through Kersh. Now she suspected Kersh's

presense in Skinner's office had been because Mulder

had requested the case and Kersh had tried to prevent

the reassignment.  However, that didn't explain why

two escaped prisoners in Alabama constituted a X-File.

She waited for Mulder to explain.

Mulder flashed the first image on the screen.  It was

a mug shot of a young man--probably in his mid-twenties 

with narrow features and a thatch of unruly sandy brown 

hair. "His name is Mark Hoyte. He was a student at Auburn 

University and a PETA activist who took his activism a 

few steps too far when he set the lab animals free."

Scully took a seat in a chair facing Mulder's desk.

Mulder continued, "It sounds like a college prank

until you come to the part where you discover the 

animals were being used for drug testing and had been

infected with meningitis. Two students died within the 

week."  

Mulder went to the next slide. "In another protest, 

Hoyte injected a medical researcher at the CDC with 

AIDS infected blood.  He was convicted of attempted 

murder and has been serving his sentence at the 

penitentiary in Atmore, Alabama."  He paused before 

announcing.  "Hoyte escaped two weeks ago."  

The next slide showed a man approximately the 

same age as Hoyte, only this one looked scruffier.

He had heavy eyebrows, pale skin, and a mop of 

stringy black hair.  "James Reardon. He escaped with 

Hoyte. Earlier today he was apprehended by a county 

deputy in Birmingham, Alabama."

"That still doesn't explain what makes this a 

X-File."

Mulder gave a brief smile and Scully waited for 

the twist in the case which had sparked Mulder's 

interest.

He explained with obvious relish, "According to the 

deputy who made the capture Mark Hoyte disappeared 

into thin air. Reardon agreed."

Scully frowned.  "There could be many explanations

for that."

"There could be."

But Scully knew Mulder.  He wasn't finished yet.  

"What is the rest of the story?" she asked.

He smiled. Scully knew he liked it when she anticipated

his moves and his pleased expression eased any of the 

lingering tention between them from before lunch.

The two of them might be polar opposites in many 

respects.  They may not agree on everything, but 

for the most part Scully was sure that fact didn't 

bother either of them. Total agreement was not 

necessary. It also had the potential to be boring. 

The occasional friction of their differing points of

view were necessary. . .and oddly pleasurable. While

they might not always understand each other, they

knew each other all too well.

Scully returned Mulder's smile. Everything was okay.

Mulder went to the next slide.  This one was older, a 

vintage black and white photo of three Ku Klux Klansmen.

At the bottom of the slide Scully read the date -- 

November 3, 1969.

Mulder pointed to the man on the far left.  "That's 

Orrin Lancaster.  A few days after this photo was

taken he and his two buddies there blew up an

African-American church in downtown Birmingham. They

killed two little girls and their Sunday school

teacher."

"I know that case."  She looked at her partner.  

"Lancaster was executed a few years ago, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"So what connection does he have with Hoyte?"

"Lancaster bombed the church in 1969.  He wasn't

apprehended by the police until 1983."

As far as Scully could tell that information in no

way implied any connection between the two men.

"And?" she prompted, anticipating that Mulder was

leading somewhere with this information.

"And Lancaster was apprehended in the same location 

where Hoyte disappeared."

Scully arched a brow.  "That's quite a coincidence."

Mulder pulled his feet off his desk and sat forward.  

"Want more of a coincidence?"  

He went to the next slide and Scully almost gasped.

The square jawed face that stared back at her had 

been on the FBI's 10 Most Wanted List for the last 

three years.  

"That's David Dean Foster," she said softly.

Without missing a beat Mulder began rattling off

facts.  "Foster was charged with bombing a stem cell

research lab at UAB medical center, a bar in New 

Orleans whose patrons were mostly homosexual, and 

the 1998 Good Will Games."

"He's a fanatical right wing fundamentalist."

Mulder nodded.  "And a dangerous one."

Scully rose to her feet and approached the screen.

She stared at the man's face--a man who had 

killed two lab workers and permanently disfigured

a third, a man who had executed a room full of

men for no reason other than their sexual

preferences, a man who had made a name for himself

by targeting the Good Will games.  Scully faced

Mulder.  "What is Foster's connection to Hoyte?"

"After the UAB bombing in 1999 there was a massive

manhunt centered--"

Scully closed her eyes and finished Mulder's statement.  

"In the same area being searched for Hoyte." She opened 

her eyes.  "Any reports of Foster disappearing into 

thin air?"

"Only in the euphemistic sense. There hasn't been

a trace of him in years, but there's never been

evidence that he left the area."

Scully crossed her arms. "So are we looking for

the Blair Witch?"  When Mulder cocked his head

to the side and gave her a quizzical look Scully 

said somewhat defensively, "I'm capable of making 

pop culture references.  People inexplicably 

disappearing in the forest--the Blair Witch parallel 

is obvious."

"And outdated." A smile played around the corners 

of Mulder's mouth.

"Are you mocking me?" she asked.

"I think you started this by mocking me."

"Maybe.  A little. But the reference is still 

appropriate."

Mulder turned off the slide projector.  "Perhaps,

but not even I think we're going to find the Blair

Witch."  As they left the office he added, "Besides, 

the sequel bombed at the box office."

              X          X          X

Highway 280

Birmingham, Alabama

4:53pm CST

Pale pink petals fell from cherry trees flanking the 

entrances to glass and steel corporate buildings 

situated behind manicured lawns or partially hidden 

by towering long leaf pines.  A constant stream of 

traffic bisected a wide valley bounded by blue-green 

hills which looked picturesque from a distance but up 

close were marred by a mismatched patchwork of gas 

stations, convenience stores, and fast food restaurants.

"Well isn't that generica," Mulder muttered as he 

turned off of Highway 280, which could easily double 

as a six lane parking lot, onto a smaller road which 

ran parallel to the highway.  

The suburbs looked roughly the same just about anywhere 

in the U.S. these days.  It didn't seem to matter whether 

they were located in the North, West, or deep South.

Scully looked with surprise at the impressive line of 

emergency vehicles--fire trucks, police cars, a Shelby 

County Sheriff's SUV which oddly enough looked like a 

Mercedes M class and, indeed on closer inspection 

proved to *be* a Mercedes.

Mulder addressed her unspoken question. "There's a plant 

that makes them just west of the city, near Tuscaloosa." 

She raised an eyebrow.  "A donation to the police 

department?"

"And a nice one."

Other emergency vehicles were parked along the edge of 

the street and blocked the old bridge that was nearly 

hidden by the modern overpass which carried  Hwy 280 

traffic overhead.

"This can't be right." Scully checked the directions 

Skinner had given.  Glancing behind her, Scully noted 

a ten story office building sporting the logo of a 

telephone company while in front of her on the other side

of the small river was a busy, up-scale shopping center.  

"The escaped prisoner is supposed to be hiding in the 

woods."

Mulder pointed to the oaks, pines, and flowering 

dogwoods bowing over the lazy, glorified stream a 

green sign marked as being the Cahaba River.  "I 

see trees."

"Trees, yes," Scully conceded.  "But do they qualify 

as woods?"

The river flowed over a rock spillway before dropping

seven or eight feet downward in a constant, but not

powerful, rush.  Less than a quarter of a mile down

stream the river twisted around a bend blanketed by a 

thicket of evergreens and deciduous trees with fresh

lime green colored foliage. It was a far cry from 

being a national forest where one might reasonably 

believe a fugitive could elude capture for an extended 

period of time. This was little more than a patch of 

green bounded by civilization on all sides.

A FBI agent Scully vaguely thought she recognized 

carried a McDonalds bag across the street to sit on a 

rock facing the river.

"I'll check to see how things are going," Mulder said

as he stepped out of the car.

Through the windshield, she saw the lean, dark 

haired agent rise as Mulder approached.  After a few 

moments she saw the agent gesture emphatically 

while Mulder adopted a deceptively casual pose.

Scully opened the car door and moved to join them.

"Go back to Washington, Agent Mulder," the agent

snapped sharply.

Scully couldn't hear Mulder's response though she 

could guess what it might be.

"Look," the agent facing her partner said. "I'm in 

charge of this field operation.  I don't need your 

help and what's more, I don't want it."

Again, she couldn't hear Mulder's reply.

The shorter agent's face changed to a ruddy hue. 

"I don't know if you remember me, Agent Mulder, but 

I remember you.  Dallas, 1998.   You were assigned 

to search one building and you searched another

instead."

Karas.  The name came to Scully out of the blue--  

Special Agent Nick Karas.  He had been Darius 

Michaud's second in command when she and Mulder had 

been assigned to the domestic terrorism task force 

in 1998 when the X-Files had been shut down.  

Karas circled Mulder.  "You and Agent Scully were on 

the team for what?  One week?  Two?  You ignored 

procedure, ignored protocol, and on some whim--"

"Found the bomb and evacuated the building," Mulder

stated flatly.

Scully stopped walking and closed her eyes.  Though a 

slight smile touched her lips, she couldn't help 

shaking her head and thinking Mulder never knew

when to keep his mouth closed.

Agent Karas didn't look impressed. "You then left town 

while rubble still littered the streets.  It's all 

well and good to play Lone Ranger saying 'here I come 

to save the day--'"

"That's Mighty Mouse, actually."

Even from a distance Scully could see a muscle jump 

in Agent Karas' jaw.  "You weren't there for the 

ground work, Agent Mulder.  You shirked what 

responsibilities you were given. You played hero, but

didn't stick around for the clean up, for the real 

work.  The job wasn't half done, and you were in 

Antarctica."  Karas glanced in Scully's direction.  

"I don't need you or your partner here.  I have 

everything under control.  Go back to Washington."

A deputy came rushing out of the woods, "Agent Karas,

we've found something!"

Nick Caras turned and walked quickly down the path to 

the woods.  Mulder looked in Scully's direction. She

nodded and without a word passing between them, she 

followed Mulder into the woods.

Long fallen leaves and pine needles crunched under 

their feet as they followed the sounds of officers in 

the distance.  The trail passed beneath dappled patches

of sunlight before they reached the rocky shoulder of

the river.  

A couple of officers were wading waist deep in the 

water as they crossed the shallow stretch of the 

river.  On the other side of the Cahaba a man lay 

only half submerged in the water.

"Is that him?"  Karas asked, still standing on the 

river bank.

The agent crossing the stream stooped to peer into 

the corpse's face then lifted his hand to give a 

thumbs up. "It's him."

Karas nodded then looked at Mulder.  "Looks like 

you made the trip for nothing.  Job's over."

"Looks like," Mulder said softly but Scully noticed 

he was looking in the direction from which they had 

come.  She didn't say anything as Mulder walked to 

the edge of the waterway.  He paused and Scully 

followed the direction of his gaze.

"We didn't travel far, did we?" he noted.

As they had walked down the path they had rounded the 

bend in the river, but they were still less than a 

quarter of a mile from the bridge where they had 

parked.  

Mulder shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded 

toward the agents crossing the stream.  "Hard to 

believe they needed this many people to less than 

a day to find a body lying this close to a U.S. 

Highway in a densely populated suburb."

Scully gave a slight shrug.  "Perhaps an unwarranted

expenditure of resources but it accomplished its 

purpose. They found Hoyte.  The search is over."

"Mmm-hmm"

The non-committal reply told Scully all she needed 

to know.  Mulder wasn't done.  When she saw a new car 

join the emergency vehicles on the bridge, Scully 

straightened her wind breaker and began walking toward 

the road.  She  knew the routine.  She would have to 

play FBI liaison to the county coroner.  She would

also autopsy Mark Hoyte's corpse.

              X          X          X

Jefferson County Jailhouse

Birmingham, Al

6:40pm CST

Mulder swept the pile of empty sunflower seed shells 

off the table and into his hand, but his gaze never 

left the convict dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit.  

Jimmy Reardon raked his hand through his unwashed

dark hair.  He looked quite bored with being 

interrogated.

"Why were you in the area?" Mulder asked again.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I told you.  Lunch."

"Lunch?  You're on the run, an escapee from federal 

prison and you stop for lunch?"

"A fella has got to eat, right?  'Sides, it was Miz 

Myree's pie.  I've been down in Atmore for two years.

You think I'm going to pass up a chance for a slice

of Miz Myree's pie?"

"You risk being recaptured for a slice of pie?"

"You haven't had Miz Myree's pie."

"Right."  Mulder looked at his notes, and the county 

case report.  He had been surprised by the fact that 

Jimmy Reardon was in the Jefferson County jail when 

he had actually been captured by a Shelby County. As 

Special Agent Karas had grudgingly explained, the area

where Reardon had been captured and Hoyte's body found

was a tapestry of jurisdictions. Some blocks belonged 

to the city of Birmingham, others to the city of Hoover, 

while other areas remained unincorporated Shelby 

county or Jefferson county.  More often than not, law  

enforcement offices arrived, did their jobs, and left

questions of jurisdiction to the bureaucrats in the

courthouses. In Reardon's case, since he had escaped 

from federal prison, the law officers had decided to 

remove him to downtown Birmingham for the sake of 

convenience.

Mulder cleared his throat before starting to speak. 

"According to the report it was your friend--"

"Hold it right there. Hoyte was no friend of mine. He 

was the environmentalist liberal greenie whacko in 

the next cell.  We had common goals is all."

"And that goal would be what? To escape?"

Jimmy nodded. "In a nutshell."

Mulder closed the file and rested his clasped hands 

on the table. "The report said you claimed your 

*fellow escapee* shot--"

"Shot the sheriff?" Jimmy asked with bright eyes.

"It was a deputy."

"I did not shoot the deputy."  Jimmy smirked and from 

the cadence of voice it was clear Reardon knew the song 

he mocked.  "Look, Hoyte was seriously screwy. He was 

one of those head cases who paid for that billboard in 

Pensacola asking 'Would you give your right arm for a 

shark?' It sick shoving crap like that in the face of 

parents who just lost their kid to a damn *fish.*  If

you ask me, the kid's uncle was right to shoot the 

thing.  But Hoyte?  He was upset for the fish. He

didn't give a damn about the kid."  Jimmy shrugged. 

"Guess you can't expect much else from a guy who 

killed to college kids to set bunnies and lab rats free.  

Like I said, Hoyte had some seriously screwed up 

priorities."

"So says the federal prisoner," Mulder drawled.

"Right.  So says me.  I'm a lot of things.  Most of 

them not nice, but I'm no killer.  I was put away 

for mail fraud. Don't need blood on my hands." Reardon's

gaze met Mulder's squarely. He sounded sincere when he

said,  "I really didn't shoot that deputy."

Mulder believed him. . .plus there was nothing in Jimmy 

Reardon's file to indicate violent tendencies. "Okay," 

Mulder agreed. "Let's forget the deputy."

"Wish I could.  You ever see brains go splat?" Jimmy 

shuddered.  "I could live without ever seeing brains 

going splat again."

To be honest, Mulder felt the same, but in his 

line of work it was doubtful such a wish would be

granted.  These days Mulder was just hoping for a

few months hiatus between hospitalizations. Was that

really so much to ask?  Disturbing deaths, Mulder 

could handle, but he was tired of looking into Scully's 

worried blue eyes while laying flat on his back in a 

hospital bed.  

Taking charge of the conversation, Mulder brought up 

the point he had been leading to since the beginning 

of the questioning.   "According to your file, you

claim Mark Hoyte disappeared in front of your eyes."

"Yeah, I'm claiming.  So?"

"So did he?"

"Disappear? Yeah, he did."

Mulder took at deep breath.  "And you sure he didn't

take an escape route you didn't see?  He could have

slipped away while you were distracted."

"I know what I saw and what I didn't see," Reardon

insisted.  "Hoyte went poof.  One second he was there, 

the next he wasn't.  It was like Elizabeth Montgomery 

on Bewitched or something. . .though I would've 

preferred Jeannie in a bikini with the pony tail 

thingie."  He smiled.  "Hey, that rhymed, didn't it?"  

In the face of Mulder's deliberately blank expression

Reardon shifted his weight in his chair and cleared 

his throat. "Still. . .um. . .Agent Mulder, you get 

my point."

"That you watched too much afternoon television as 

a kid?"

"Come on, lighten up. I didn't mention Gilligan's 

Island or Star Trek."

Mulder shook his head in disbelief.  "It's amazing 

you survived this long in prison."

Jimmy grinned.  "Hey, why do you think I was trying 

to escape?"  He leaned forward.  "Look, I know it 

sounds nuts.  I know if I keep talking about it 

someone is going to haul my ass down to Bryce in 

Tuscaloosa to lock me up with the rest of the loons, 

but I'm telling you, Hoyte disappeared into thin 

air.  For real."

ACT II

Brook Highland Hotel

Birmingham, Al

10:50pm  CST

Scully inserted the card key and waited for the 

familiar clicking sound of the door unlocking.  

Pressing her hand to lower back she opened the hotel 

room door to find Mulder sitting on one of the beds 

with his ankles crossed watching a Braves baseball 

game.

"Nice to see someone is comfortable," she drawled 

as she dropped the rental car keys on the table.  

"Someone has clearly spent too many hours in the 

morgue.  Did the corpses get to you?" Mulder didn't 

bother to glance away from the TV screen as Scully 

crossed the room. 

"Another day another autopsy" was her only reply as 

she fell backwards onto the bed next Mulder.

"Find any surprises?" He had finally pulled his gaze

away from the screen to look at her.

"No." Scully closed her eyes.  It had been a long

day.

"Hoyte drowned then?"

Scully rolled over and propped her head up on one 

hand.  "Massive head trauma. He most probably fell 

while running along the ridge near the river.  A 

misplaced step and he took a header onto the rocks."

Scully heard the crack of a bat making contact 

with a ball and the roar of the crowd on the TV. It

captured Mulder's attention as well, and he watched

the rest of the play before he asked, "Nothing 

mysterious?"

Scully lay back once more. "Don't sound disappointed, 

Mulder.  I know you *are* disappointed but don't 

sound disappointed."

"You know that, do you?"

"Yes.  No unexplained chemicals in his system.  No

genetic mutations.  Nothing the tiniest bit out of the

ordinary.  Everything you don't want to here."

"I take it I'm predictable."

Scully smiled softly while keeping her eyes closed.

"Don't feel bad, Mulder.  We both are."

"Turn over," he commanded.

Scully opened one eye suspiciously.  

"Turn over," he repeated. 

Scully complied and felt Mulder's warm hands knead 

the tense muscles of her back.  

"That's a nice skill you have there," she murmured.

"Thought you might like it."

His fingers pressed firmly into the knotted muscles

of her shoulders, rubbing them, easing the ache in 

them.  It felt sinfully wonderful.

"Mmmm."  Scully sighed tiredly then forced herself 

to ask, "So what did you do while I was slaving away 

in the morgue?"

"Meeting Jimmy Reardon."

She arched a brow. "The escaped convict?"

"None other." Mulder's hands moved slowly down her 

back then slipped under the hem of her shirt.  "Reardon

is convinced Mark Hoyte disappeared. Literally."

"And you believe him." 

Scully felt Mulder move closer.  She even felt his 

breath against her cheek as he whispered in her ear,  

"You know I'll believe almost anything."

Scully smiled. "I came to that conclusion when we

chased the Jersey Devil."

She felt the heat of Mulder's hands moving over her 

bare skin, undoing her bra with practiced skill, and

coming to rest between her shoulder blades. Somehow

he found the exact, right spot and began massaging 

deeply.

This was good.  This was nice. This was far, far better

than nice. Mulder should give back rubs more often.

Scully's stomach growled. 

"No dinner at the morgue?" he asked. 

Scully's stomach growled again.  "What do you think?"

"I think you never looked at the other bed."

Scully reluctantly opened one eye then the other.  In

the middle of the other bed lay a large flat box. She

knew that at that moment her smile expressed equal parts

hope and bliss.  "Pizza?"

"Just for you."

Scully rolled off the bed.

As she opened the box, Mulder told her, "Feta cheese, 

pine nuts, Greek oregano, and sun dried tomatoes." 

Scully looked at her partner with surprise. That didn't

sound like Mulder's usual 'everything and then some' 

order.  

"Agent Karas chose it," Mulder explained as he fluffed

a pillow and stuffed it behind his head.

Scully silently raised both eyebrows.

Mulder shrugged, which considering he was laying 

sprawled across the bed couldn't have been easy to do.  

"An olive branch," he said while reaching for the box 

and stealing a slice of pizza.  "Oh, and there are 

olives on this thing too."

Scully was too stunned to taste her dinner. 

"The two of you went out for pizza?"

"It's worse than that," Mulder drawled. "I bought."

Scully almost dropped the box. Mulder had made a 

conciliatory gesture toward a FBI agent that wasn't 

her?  

As if he could feel her gaze boring into him, Mulder 

explained, "While I might disagree with the way Karas 

characterized our actions in Dallas, the fact is he's 

been assigned to this place for nearly three years.  

What started as a manhunt has become a futile exercise 

in frustration and given everything that happened in 

New York and Washington in the fall, Karas has to feel 

like he's running in circles while he's desperately 

needed elsewhere.  An assignment like this for someone 

in the anti-terrorism division must feel like having 

both arms handcuffed behind your back while being 

forced to sit in the corner of a dark room when 

your knowledge and experience is needed for the

rest of the building.

Mulder's hazel eyed gaze locked with Scully's. "I 

suppose after Dallas you and I weren't the only ones 

on A.D. Kersh's shit list."

Scully recognized the fierce intelligence and insight 

mixed with a stunning capacity for compassion in the 

depths of his gaze as he told her, "I remember what 

it was like when they shut down the X-Files.  I didn't 

like it.  Karas must be feeling something like that 

now.  The least I could do was buy the guy beer and

pizza."

Scully was used to Mulder.  She saw him day in, day 

out, and most nights as well.  She fought with him, 

opposed him, and frequently became frustrated by him.  

But every now and then she was simply struck by how

was genuinely good he could be.  Mulder cared about 

things passionately, but he also cared about people.  

He could be somewhat obsessive, but it was tempered

by moments of surprising empathy.  He was--as simple 

and understated as it sounded--a good man.

Setting her pizza and the box aside, Scully reached 

to touch Mulder's cheek.  He looked at her curiously 

as she traced his cheekbones with her thumbs and 

threaded her fingers through his short, crisp hair.

He looks tired, Scully thought. 

Something in his eyes looked old and worn, as if Mulder

had seen too much somewhere along the line, and Scully 

knew that he had.  Mulder had seen too much, endured 

too much. . .which made it all the more amazing that 

somehow he still found a way to believe--in people, 

in things, in the future.  

He closed his eyes.

Scully realized the last few months had been trying.  

Then she stopped and corrected herself. The last few 

*years* had been trying.  His entire life had been

about searches and losses.  Mulder had once told her

a story about entering his home with his eyes closed

because he had always secretly hoped that one day he

would open them and find his family standing there,

including the sister he had lost so long ago.

Scully leaned forward and pressed her forehead against

Mulder's.

There had been too many injuries, too many brushes 

with death, too many injustices, dead friends, dead 

colleagues, and dead enemies. Too much.  The list 

always seemed to be growing and already it felt 

endless. 

She laid her cheek against his hair.

Their lives were difficult and their work was 

dangerous. Mulder lifted his face to hers and 

Scully pressed a soft kiss to his mouth as she 

felt his arms come around her, pulling her to 

stand between his legs as he sat on the bed. His 

warmth surrounded her, enveloped her.

Scully sighed and confessed, "I think Mark Hoyte was 

murdered."  She rushed on before she could lose her 

nerve.  "There's no concrete reason I should be 

suspicious it wasn't an accident.  His injuries were 

consistent with the  explanation I gave you. A fall 

from the ridge is the most likely cause for the head 

trauma..."

"But?" Mulder leaned back a little and they faced

each other as he tucked a stray strand of her hair

behind her ear.  "The way your sentence is trailing 

off tells me there's a 'but' in there, Scully."

"But I can't shake the suspicion that likely and 

logical though my explanation may be, it's not the 

*right* explanation.  For some reason--" She couldn't 

bring herself to say it.

"You think he was murdered."  Mulder's hands moved 

rhythmically, soothingly up and down her back. "Is 

there anything you want to do about it?"

"I don't want to go back to Washington."

Mulder appeared to consider her words for a moment. 

"Okay."  He pulled her to him, falling back onto 

the bed with Scully on top of him, his hands cupping

her head.  "Besides," he added. "I've heard that on 

Red Mountain they have a deconstructed statue with

the world's largest naked iron ass. I don't 

want to miss seeing that."

                X       X       X

Brook Highland Hotel

Birmingham, Al

11:18am  CST

Scully exited the hotel to find Nick Karas talking 

to another agent.  Several of the agents temporarily 

assigned to Birmingham for the manhunt had been 

housed in the hotel. Thankfully, because they had 

been late to arrive, neither she nor Mulder had been 

required to share a room with any of the other agents. 

Technically, she and her partner had separate rooms. 

Mulder had even slept there. . .eventually.

Karas looked in her direction. Scully supposed Karas was 

at the hotel to see off the agents who had temporarily 

been assigned to the search.  Now they were leaving. 

Karas on the other hand would be left behind since he 

was still technically assigned to the David Dean Foster 

case. 

After a friendly pat on a departing agent's back, Karas 

approached Scully.  His features looked less severe this

morning, less tense.  He held out his hand.  "I'm sorry 

you made this trip for what amounted to so little 

excitement," he said in a pleasant voice.

Scully arched a brow, surprised by the man's apparent 

sincerity.  

Karas grimaced.  "I know I didn't exactly put out the 

welcome mat when you and Agent Mulder arrived."

Scully relented. "Given the events in Dallas, I can 

understand."  She and Mulder had flaunted the rules

and regulations in that case, but they had also saved 

lives.  

Scully believed in rules.  She was a rule follower if 

ever there was one, but she didn't believe in blindly 

following rules simply because they were rules.  A 

person had to think for themselves. . .but she did 

understand why Agent Karas would be less than thrilled 

about another round of help from the X-Files.

Looking somewhat mollified, Karas said, "I know I 

was being defensive.  Like Agent Mulder said, the two 

of you managed to evacuate a building in Dallas, I 

have no business resenting the fact that the two of 

you disappeared so soon afterward."

"A mistake we won't make this time," Mulder said as 

he exited the hotel.

Karas glanced from Mulder to Scully then back to 

Mulder.  "I don't understand."

"We aren't leaving," Mulder explained.

Karas frowned. "There's no case."

Mulder tossed his rental car keys in the air and 

caught them with his left hand.  "Scully and I

still have a few questions."

"Questions?" Karas' dark brows drew down sharply.

"We had two escaped prisoners.  One was recaptured,

the other is dead.  Is there something I'm missing?

There are no questions that need answers."  

Mulder walked toward the parking lot.  "There are 

always questions, Agent."

After a glance in Scully's direction, Karas followed 

Mulder. . .and Scully followed Karas.

"I was right before, wasn't I?" The tone of Karas'

voice could only be called accusatory. "You weren't 

here because of Reardon and Hoyte.  You came here

because of Foster."

Scully spoke. "We have questions about the way Mark

Hoyte died."

Karas pinned her with an angry stare. "It was ruled 

an accident. *You* ruled it as an accident."

Scully had nothing to refute that.

"She has questions," Mulder said for her.

"What questions?"  Again Karas looked at Scully.

She didn't answer.  She couldn't.  Usually she

had something practical, something logical to

say. 

There were times when she had the pitch and 

demeanor of a drill sergeant so it felt strange

and wrong to feel hesitant, uncertain, and almost

unwilling to speak. Usually, if she had questions, 

they were based in something she could point to and 

say, "This doesn't add up."  The problem here was

Mark Hoyte's death *did* add up.  She had no real 

reason to have questions, she simply did...and Scully

didn't know how to defend that.

Mulder on the other hand was far too familiar

with defending the ill defined and inexplicable.

"We wanted to check the woods where the body was 

found," Mulder explained.  "Perhaps there is 

something we overlooked."

Part of Scully resented Mulder speaking for her, 

another part of Scully was happy that he did.  

Somehow she didn't want to be the one accused of 

following a whim, then she felt terrible for 

feeling that way.  Was she really so rooted in 

skepticism and that she didn't want to admit when 

her suspicions led her away from the easily 

quantified and provable?

Karas' jaw  tensed.  He looked angry.  "I can't 

stop you," he growled.  "Go ahead. Search. You 

won't find anything.  You're not going to 

miraculously stumble over David Dean Foster. I've 

been searching those woods for nearly three years. 

If I can't find him, he isn't there." Karas faced 

Mulder squarely.  "You aren't going to play twelfth 

hour hero."

Karas stomped away.

Scully drawled, "I see we still know how to win 

friends and influence people." 

Mulder looked far too pleased with himself "We do 

know how to piss people off, don't we?" 

"It's a talent." Scully slid into the passenger seat 

of the rental car.  

Mulder took the drivers seat. "Counting great 

backrubs and understanding the minds of serial 

killers that makes three."

"Wow, Mulder, four talents. I'm impressed."

"Four?  I only said three."

"I added another talent."

Mulder watched her with a flirtatious glint in his 

eyes. "And the talent would be. . .?" 

Scully refused to crack a smile. With a straight

face she said, "Driving."

"Mmm-hmm."  Mulder still looked absurdly pleased with 

himself, but--what the hell--Scully rather liked it.

Fifteen minutes later they once again parked above 

the spillway. Mulder got out of the car but Scully 

didn't move.  He walked around the car and opened her

door.  Scully could feel Mulder's silent, questioning 

gaze on her.  She knew they were here because of her.

It felt strange.

She looked at her partner.  "I'm not sure what we're 

looking for."

Mulder didn't say anything but Scully knew what 

his reply would be-- the truth.  They were looking 

for the truth.  They were always looking for the 

truth.  Scully knew that.  What she couldn't figure

out was what they were hoping to find.

What possible proof could the be that Mark Hoyte

had not simply fallen from a rock ledge into a 

shallow river?

Mulder appeared purposeful but unconcerned. "Let's

look around and see what we can find."

And hope that Mulder's incredible intuition kicked 

in? Scully if that was what she was really hoping 

would happen as she stepped out of the car. How 

many cases had they solved based on nothing more 

than one of Mulder's incredible leaps of. . not 

logic.  Logic so rarely applied to the intuitive 

leaps Mulder made.

She examined Mulder's profile and wondered if 

perhaps some small part of the reason Mulder found 

answers where no one else would or could was because 

he left himself open to them?  He was willing to

believe.

Which left Scully. . .where?  Mulder was the 

intuitive one.  She was the one walking around 

demanding cold, hard facts.  Why were they here 

at her request?

She didn't know.  Scully honestly didn't know. She 

didn't know why she had disbelieved the conclusions 

of her own autopsy when those conclusions had been so 

simple, so clear, so logical.  She didn't know why 

she was following Mulder into the woods once more.  

She didn't *know* why. . .she just knew that it felt 

right.

After walking for ten minutes or so, Scully realized 

that it felt like her blue windbreaker was sticking 

to her skin.  For an early spring day it seemed 

unusually warm.  The air felt thick, heavy, and humid.  

She glanced at the canopy of trees and could see the 

sky was a pale gray.  "Did you check the weather 

report?" she asked.

"Rain is expected later today," Mulder told her as

he made his way down the river embankment.

This time they had walked down the side of the river 

where the body had been found.  Picking their way down 

a narrow trail that ran along the ridge 

until they had made their way to the water's edge. 

Standing on the rocky shoal, Scully looked up at the 

ridge they had just traversed.  "The drop is far 

enough to explain the injuries Hoyte sustained," 

Scully concluded as she found Mulder kneeling looking 

at the spot where the body had been found.  "Find 

anything?" she asked.

Mulder stood.  "I'm afraid not--just rocks, 

water, and a few blood stains."  

Scully searched for any rocks which might be big 

enough to use as a weapon to cause Hoyte's head 

injuries.  Of course such a rock wouldn't mean 

anything.  For it to be a weapon someone would have 

to weild it. There only been two prison escapees 

and Jimmy Reardon had been captured.

"Could there be any connection between Hoyte and 

Foster?"  she asked.

Mulder shook his head.  "Nothing obvious.  Hoyte is 

a political radical and Foster is a religious 

fundamentalist. There isn't much social overlap 

between those groups."

"Not much," she agreed.  "But is there any?" 

"I don't think so." Mulder faced Scully. "Last 

night, between going for pizza and waiting for you 

to return from the morgue, I did some research. It's 

possible Foster had some connection with Orrin 

Lancaster, but there's nothing to indicate any 

association with Hoyte. Lancaster burned crosses, 

wore sheets and terrorized anything he perceived 

as being different from himself.  On the other hand,

Hoyte wrote pamphlets demanding restitution be paid 

for both slavery and the relocation of Southeastern 

Native American tribes such as the Choctaw, Cherokee, 

and Creek for the way were driven west on the Trail 

of Tears."

Mulder paused then said, "I also found something

else that might be of interest--at least of 

historical interest."

Scully stood at the rivers edge examining the spot

where the Hoyte's body had been found.

Mulder continued, "A Civil War battle was fought in 

this general area." Mulder approached the striated 

rock wall. "A Union officer wrote an account of it 

and some historian has it posted on his web site."

"And?"  Scully knew Mulder wouldn't mention the 

account if he didn't think there was a connection.

"And the Union officer swore the Confederate 

regiment -- a rather large Confederate regiment --

literally appeared out of no where."

Scully examined their surroundings. The vegetation

surrounding them was rather thick, dense, and dark.  

While she knew they stood less than a mile from a 

busy business district, it was impossible to guess 

that from their immediate surroundings.  The area 

would have been remote and isolated more than a 

century earlier. 

"I would assume the Confederates were more familiar

with the area and therefore in a better position

to know where and how to conceal themselves," she

conjectured. 

"Perhaps."  Mulder looked thoughtful.

"But?"

"But it was a *very* large regiment." 

She saw Mulder glance at her over his shoulder.

"There *is* a connection, you know," he told her.

"Between all of them.  Hoyte, Lancaster, Foster. . ."

"You just said there wasn't."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Mulder

approached her.  "Not a concrete connection but 

a 'similarity of purpose,' if you will."

"A similarity of purpose?  You just said that 

Lancaster and Hoyte were on opposite ends of the

political spectrum."

"And they are, or at least they were."

Scully frowned  then proceeded to 'think' out 

loud. "But Foster, Hoyte and Lancaster all shared 

a tendency to use violence to defend a cause." She

lifted her gaze to meet Mulder's. "One could even 

make the argument for the Confederate soldiers. 

Is that the connection you're hinting at--violence

in defense of a cause?"

"That too."

"Too?"  Scully arched a brow.

"To use violence to defend a cause means *having* 

a cause, Scully. They believed."

"Believed what?"

"Different things.  The point being they believed 

in *something.*"

She tried considering that for a moment, but something

inside her insisted that the idea was absurd. "Are you 

seriously suggesting these woods are a Mecca for people 

who believe in lost causes?"  

"Not quite, but close."  Mulder looked distracted, 

as if something had caught his eye.  "Did you see 

that?" 

"See what?"

Mulder pointed to the top rocky ridge. "There. Did 

you see that flash of light?"

Scully squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand.

"I don't see anything."  Something didn't feel right. 

"Mulder?"  She looked over her shoulder, but he 

wasn't there.  "Mulder?"  

There was no sign of him, not a trace.

The water's surface was like black glass--still, dark 

and tranquil.  The rock shoal stood barren, and the 

ridge over head uninhabited.  

"Mulder, where are you?"

           X           X           X

Scully had disappeared into thin air. . .not that the 

air felt thin at the moment.  In fact, the air felt 

pregnant with energy, but the fact remained that 

Scully was no where to be seen.  She had literally

disappeared before his eyes.

Mulder looked around himself.  Nothing else had 

changed.  It was a bit sunnier than it had been, but 

other than that, everything was exactly where and how 

it had been only a moment earlier. . .except Scully 

was gone.  

Something came whizzing by his ear.  He recognized 

the sound.  Someone had shot at him!

Mulder dove for the ground as another bullet buzzed 

over head hitting the surface the river with a 

small splash which radiated concentric circles of 

disturbance across the water. 

All too aware of the flat, barren rock around and 

beneath him, Mulder lay exposed. He needed cover

. . .hopefully a bullet was lodged in him.  

Pressing his hands against the rock, Mulder shoved 

himself to his feet and ran for toward the rock wall 

of the ridge.  If he was pressed himself against 

it he would at least provide a smaller target for 

whoever was shooting at him from overhead.  

Scully, where are you?  Mulder wondered.

            X         X          X

A low, deep roar of thunder reverberated through 

the valley amplified by the rocky surroundings 

of the river and causing Scully to look skyward 

with trepidation.  The clouds were now a dark, 

ominous charcoal gray.  

Scully had hiked up and down a quarter mile stretch 

of river shoreline twice looking for any sign of 

where Mulder may have gone.  

She hadn't found a thing. 

People couldn't disappear without a trace, Scully 

reassured herself.  It was impossible.  Clues 

might be missed, or trails lost, but someone did 

not disappear without leaving clues behind. 

Except this wasn't 'someone.'  This was Mulder.  

And this wasn't Mulder walking into another room and 

then her not being able to find him.  This wasn't 

Mulder walking deep into the forest and her not 

knowing where to find him.  Mulder had been standing 

beside her-- right beside her--and he had disappeared 

in mid conversation.

It couldn't be. . .and yet it was.

Scully felt the thunder come again.  It was closer 

now and seemed to vibrate inside her as well as 

around her. As Scully felt the first drops of rain 

pelt her, she decided to make her way up the ridge 

to search for a better view of the area.

             X          X          X

He had to move.  Mulder knew it.  Pressing himself 

against a rock wall might provide some small protection 

but it wouldn't last long. The shooter would move soon 

and where would Mulder be?  If Mulder was standing 

where he was now, he would be nothing more than a

human bulls eye. 

He heard something.

It was the sound of a twig snapping--which might mean

nothing.  Listening intently, Mulder became acutely 

aware of the sound and feel of his own breathing in the 

oppressive silence devoid of sounds he would have expected

so close to the city. Why couldn't he hear the sound of

traffic on Highway 280?  He wasn't far away, yet somehow 

the unnatural stillness that pervaded the woods made 

Mulder feel as though he was completely isolated from 

civilization.

He waited for the sound to come again. . .seconds 

passed before it did.  Someone or something was off to 

Mulder's right.  He turned to search for the sound's 

source, but little light penetrated the dense canopy 

of trees causing deep, impenetrable shadows. 

Mulder waited.  

Nothing.

He stepped away from the wall.

Still nothing.

He heard another loud snap, the sound of a branch 

breaking beneath someone or something's foot.

Mulder whipped his head around, trying to

locate the source of the sound or at least to 

find who stalked him. . .but no one was there to 

be seen. 

Mulder decided to run for it.  It was the only 

reasonable choice.  He took a deep breath and 

started running only to be stopped by another 

sound directly behind him.

"Don't move, Mister!" 

Mulder turned to face of David Dean Foster.

         X         X          X

ACT III

Woods near the Cahaba River

Birmingham, Al

3:12pm CST

Rain beat steadily down on Scully as she trudged

through the woods pushing aside the underbrush and

calling her partner's name.  She wasn't sure exactly

how long she had been doing it, but she had passed

the point where she seriously believed Mulder would 

answer.

The sky was oppressively dark now.  Looking around her

there was little way to tell whether it was day and 

night. Cloud cover was dense, the rain steady and 

hard, and wind rushed overhead causing the tall, slender 

pines to sway to an astounding degree. Scully wouldn't 

be surprised to hear one of them snap or see one

fall pulling up its roots.

She hit the speed dial on her cell phone and waited. 

One ring. Two.  Three, and a mechanical sounding voice 

answered saying the phone she was trying to reach was 

out of the calling area.

"Damnit, Mulder," Scully muttered to herself.  "Where

are you?"   There was no possible way he was out of

the area, but she had made the call more than a 

dozen times.  The message was always the same.

A flash of lightening made Scully shiver and she 

counted the seconds before hearing the crash of 

thunder. The storm looked--and felt--fierce. It 

was dangerous to stay out in it, but she had to 

find Mulder. As a last resort she used her phone

to dial a different number.

              X        X        X

Diffused sunlight beat down on Mulder and it felt 

good. However, the gun aimed at his skull did not 

inspire pleasant sensations.

"I told you not to move!" Foster yelled when Mulder

shifted his weight.

Mulder reassured the man, "I'm not moving."

"How many of you are there?"

"What?"

"Feds.  You found me, but how many of you are there?"

Mulder debated what he should say.  As far as he 

knew the only other person in these woods was 

Scully...even if he couldn't find her at the moment. 

It would probably be wise to keep her presence a 

secret as Scully might be the only advantage Mulder 

had. On the other hand, Mulder could try bluffing 

and saying that there were dozens of agents in the 

vicinity.

"How many!"  Foster demanded again.

Mulder studied the fugitive.  Foster looked like

hell--sunburned, unshaven, and unclean.  In fact, 

Foster looked exactly like what he was...a homicidal 

hermit.  Mulder kept his hands held high above his 

head not wanting to give Foster cause to shoot.

The way Mulder saw it, he had only one chance at 

making it out of this alive.  He dropped like

dead weight to the ground.

"Hey!"  Foster looked confused by Mulder laying

on the ground curled in the fetal position and

clutching his chest.

"Get up," the fugitive commanded.  "Get to you

you feet." Foster reached down and grabbed Mulder 

by the shoulder.  

It was what Mulder had been waiting for.  Wrenching 

clockwise he hammered his foot into Foster's knee 

and dragged the fugitive to the ground.  Grabbing the 

man's wrist, Mulder struggled to knock the gun from 

Foster's hand. 

Foster punched him.

Ignoring the pain, Mulder jabbed his elbow into 

Foster's neck, while managing to loosen Fosters's grip 

on his weapon. Unfortunately Mulder was unable to 

grab the gun for himself as it fell from his 

opponent's hand. 

Pushing himself off the ground, Mulder propelled

himself to his feet as Foster struggled to reach for 

the lost gun. Mulder staggered but managed to kick 

the gun out of Foster's reach.  It tumbled off the 

edge of rock drop off.

An infuriated growl burst from the fugitive as Foster 

struck at Mulder, kicking at the back of Mulder's

legs in an obvious effort to knock Mulder to the

ground. Mulder jumped out of reach and searched his 

surroundings for something to use as a weapon.  If

they were fighting one on one, Foster had the advantage.

Foster outweighed Mulder by at least thirty pounds.

What in the hell had Foster been eating while hiding 

in the woods for three years?  

The ridiculously superfluous thought streaked through 

Mulder's mind even as he lunged toward the rock ledge 

and jumped.

              X        X         X

Scully's shoes squished uncomfortably as she pushed 

wet hair out of her face only to have a fierce wind 

whip it into her eyes again.  As she rounded the bend 

in the river, she saw the bridge just ahead and was 

relieved to see a SUV parking there.  Slipping 

momentarily in the mud but quickly righting herself,

Scully made her way up the rise to the road just as Nick

Karas circled his truck.

"Thank you for coming," she said, raising her voice 

to compensate for the low roar of wind and thunder.

"How long has he been missing?" Karas sounded gruff 

and  businesslike as he opened the rear door of the 

truck to allow a German Shepherd to jump to the ground. 

"Two hours or so." The dog walked up to her and 

sniffed her shoes.  "I tried his cell phone but the 

message kept coming back out area."

Karas frowned and pointed to the ten story building 

across the river. "Cell tower. If Agent Mulder is in 

these woods there's no way he's out of area."

"He's in the woods."  Scully looked over her shoulder 

at the rising river, water that the day before had 

falling over the spillway in a slow, week rush, was 

now rushing powerfully over the rocks.

Karas patted the dog's head.  "Have anything of his?"

Scully frowned then Karas' question connected.  He 

needed something with Mulder's scent for the dog.  

"Hold on."  She went to the car and pulled out 

Mulder's windbreaker. Handing the jacket to Karas she 

again looked down at the spillway.  "How is the water 

rising so fast?"

"Major storm to the Northwest.  Flash flooding.  

Tornadoes.  If I didn't say it in Dallas, let me say 

it now--you and your partner have godawful timing."

Scully couldn't deny it--not that she wanted to 

discuss it at the moment.  It was time for action.  

"I'm glad you brought the dog."  

Brushing her hair behind her ear,  Scully walked

steadily toward the woods without bothering to look 

to see whether Karas would follow.  He would.

              X         X         X

Mulder began having sympathy for the idiots 

in the Blair Witch Project. Tucked somewhere in his

memory was a line of dialog about the impossibility of 

becoming lost in America. If you walked long enough in 

any direction you were bound to run into someone.  

Civilization bordered you on all sides. . .so why had he

been walking for what felt like hours without finding a 

sign of life?  

His cell phone wasn't working either.  

Mulder wondered whether he was walking in circles.  It

seemed likely.  By all appearances he was in the roughly 

the same area as where he had jumped off the ledge.

Of course things could be worse.  He could be dead, or 

shot, or injured.  Mulder had been lucky that the ledge 

from which he had jumped had only been four or five feet

high--high enough for him to duck out of sight but not 

so great a distance that Mulder had hurt himself with 

the fall.  

After pulling his gun from his holster Mulder had double 

backed to the site of his confrontation with Foster. Only

Foster had no longer been anywhere in sight.  Hardly a 

surprise, but the situation was dangerous nonetheless.

Foster was still out there somewhere. . .and so was Scully.

Mulder had then decided to follow the river up stream 

hoping to reach Highway 280 and call for reinforcements 

in the search for Foster. He should have made it to the 

bridge long before now.  He and Scully had not traveled 

far before they had been separated; and, despite all the 

walking Mulder had done since they had parted, Mulder's 

instincts told him he hadn't crossed much terrain.  

Mulder paused and looked up at the hazy blue-gray sky.  

Shouldn't it be dark by now?  For some reason his

watch had stopped, but his internal clock insisted that 

sunset should have come and gone.  

Then he heard something.  It was a faint sound.  It 

could be an animal, but if was an animal it was in 

distress. There was something choked and desperate

about the cry.

Mulder tried to tune out the constant low roar of 

rushing water that now crashed through the deep 

ravine of the river as he tried to locate the 

animalistic cry for help.  The river had been 

steadily rising for...well, for however long he 

had been walking. The water had also turned the 

color of dirty, melted orange sherbet. Mulder 

guessed it had something to do with the river 

picking up silt from the red clay of the 

surrounding terrain.  It was something to be 

expected if there was a flashflood...only it wasn't 

raining. The sky was...well the sky was not precisely 

clear but there was no rain. Still, in the defiance 

of logic, the water level of the river continued to 

steadily rise.

Mulder felt a cool breeze stir his hair even as 

he held himself perfectly still listening for the 

sound which had caught his attention. Finally it 

came again, a sputtering sound broken and 

intermittent as if a creature was dying and gasping 

for air.

Mulder ran down the hill, sliding on loose dirt and 

gravel until he reached water's edge. Shading his 

eyes with his hand, Mulder looked up river to see 

David Dean Foster shoulder deep in pale orange 

sludge gushing over the spillway.

A twig snapped under Mulder's weight when he rushed 

forward. It grabbed Foster's attneing who turned and 

aimed a pistol at Mulder.  In synchronized motion, 

Mulder raised his own weapon.

It was a stand off.  Neither man fired.  

"Lower your gun," Mulder demanded.

Foster gave a bitter sounding laugh. "Right."

"Do it!"

"How 'bout I shoot you instead?" Foster threatened.

"You can't.  You need my help."  At Foster's look of

disbelief, Mulder shouted. "You're trapped, aren't 

you?" It wasn't really a question.

Foster blinked. The water was higher still and the 

torrent falling over the spillway and slamming into 

his shoulders grew steadily more violent.  The fact 

that Foster hadn't moved indicated to Mulder that 

Foster *couldn't* move.

"What happened?"  Mulder asked.  "Did you try to 

cross the river at the spillway--"

"I fell. My foot got trapped between some rocks.  

That alright with you, asshole?"

Mulder inched forward cautiously. "Can you move 

your foot at all?"

"If I could, do you think I'd be standing here 

having my head beat in by the river?"  Foster 

never lowered his gun even though the water had 

risen high as his shoulders.

"I'll pull you out."

Foster brandished his gun recklessly. "Don't need 

and don't want your help." The water rose to his

neck.

If the level kept rising at its present rate, 

Foster would drown in minutes.  

"Let me help you." Mulder slowly, painstakingly 

worked his way toward the spillway.  

Foster fired his gun.  

            X          X          X

The thick, orange mud sucked at Scully's feet as 

she made her way up the embankment. She and Nick 

Karas had hiked back to where Mulder had disappeared.  

The dog Agent Karas had brought yelped eagerly while

leading both herself and Agent Karas through the 

woods. . .to exactly where they had begun.  They 

stood on the river bank just below the spillway 

only yards form the Old U.S. 280 bridge.

Scully shouted to be heard over the rising sound

of the storm as she shone her flashlight in Karas'

direction.  "The dog must have lost the scent

somewhere."

"Are you surprised?" Karas' voice sounded harsh

even in the din of the storm.  "We're in the 

middle of a flash flood. No scent can hold up to 

a several thousand gallons of water, and the river 

is overflowing its banks."

Scully backed away from the river's edge.  "We 

should double back once more."

"Hell no!"

"We can't stop now.  We haven't found Mulder."  

Between the darkness and the torrential rain, Scully 

could barely make out the outline of her fellow agent's 

features. A flash of curtain lightening highlighted 

thick, billowing black clouds and was immediately 

followed by a violent, deafening crash, and somewhere 

beneath the cacophony the dog's anxious yelping 

continued. 

Karas lifted his head. "Agent Scully, this is insane!"

Scully glanced toward the 280 overpass then back

to the impenetrable darkness of the woods as she 

nervously fingered the small cross at her throat. 

Karas caught her windbreaker's sleeve.  "I know you're

worried about your partner, but it's dangerous to stay

outside in this kind of storm."  

Still she tried to search the darkness.  Karas

shook her gently.  "Agent, do you hear me?"

Scully glared at Karas fiercely.  "Yes, Agent Karas,

it *is* dangerous to be out here, but my partner is

missing.  He may be injured and as you have just 

pointed out, the river has overflowed its banks and

is still rising.  We have to find Mulder."

Karas ran his hand through his dark, wet hair.  "And 

where do you suggest we search that we haven't 

already looked?"

Scully started down the embankment once more, but

Karas caught her, swinging her around to face him.  

"The trail is dead, Agent Scully.  Even the dog

can't find anything."

"If you want to give up, give up," she snapped.  "I'm

not leaving without my partner.

Scully wouldn't budge.  "I know you have little reason 

to like Mulder.  I know you think he's arrogant and 

that he's stepping on your toes--"

"Do you really think I give a damn about that

now?  He's a fellow agent--"

"Yes, he is. So you *know* we can't leave him."  

Once again she plunged into the blackness of the storm.

              X          X        X

Mulder had seen bark peel and splinter away from a 

pine tree inches to the left of his shoulder after

Foster had fired his gun.  The bastard had almost killed

him.

"I bashed that kid's head in yesterday," Foster yelled.

"Don't think I won't--"  he choked on a wave of water

"--kill you."

"I can't believe--"

"Back off!" the fugitive ground out in a vicious voice.

"You aren't taking me in.  Not alive anyhow."

"You can't want to die," Mulder protested.

"Sure I can. If I die, it's in a righteous cause."  

Another wave of water hit him solidly.  "God can take 

me home as far as I'm concerned."

"You aren't being rational.  Think!"

"I am thinking.  This is my way out."

Mulder stared at the man in disbelief. "This is no way 

out.

"Don't you get it?  God's calling me home.  It's my 

reward for doing God's work for taking out the queers 

and fags, for stopping that research using unborn

baby's insides, for striking back at all that global

village crap.  I--"  He choked and bobbed under a

wave of orange tinted water.

The man was dying, and for what? Some insane, misguided,

half assed cause?  Foster was killing himself out of

blind stubbornness and stupidity.

"I'm not going to prison!" Foster yelled.  "I'm not 

letting you win. Got that?"

Mulder shook his head.  "It's not about winning."

"You ain't got no faith, man.  If you did, you'd 

know it's an honor to die for what you believe."

Really?

As Foster's head disappeared beneath a surge of 

muddy water, Mulder dove into the river. He couldn't 

stand by and watch a man die--even a wild eyed, 

fanatical bastard.

            X          X           X

Karas called after her. "This is insane!"

Scully stopped.  "No, it's not." Even though some

part of her agreed with Karas that it was.  

"Mulder is here and we'll find him.  Tonight."

"If we don't drown first.  What the hell were the 

two of you doing out here anyway? The Hoyte case 

was over. Done.  Did the two of you honestly 

believe you could show up and find Foster when I 

haven't been able to in three years of searching?"

Karas confronted her. "The joke is on you, Agent." 

The dog ran up to Karas who absently patted the 

animal's head.  "You and your partner can't find

Foster because he's not here to find. Haven't you

figured it out yet?  This is an exercise in futility

courtesy of Assistant Director Kersh.  It's his way

of punishing me for that mess in Dallas."

Scully couldn't believe it. "That's absurd." Not

to mention unjust and vindictive.  From all

she knew, Karas was a good agent.  It would be the 

height of asinine behavior to assign Karas to a 

do-nothing, go nowhere case in some blindly petty

attempt to punish Karas for an event over which he

had no control... then again it was Kersh they were

talking about.

With his shoulders slumped Karas asked, "What did the

two of you hope to find?"

Scully almost gave him Mulder's standard reply--the 

truth. She looked at Karas. "We were looking for 

answers.  That's what all any of us can do."

"Look around you, Agent Scully.  Did you see answers?"

Scully fingered the cross that hung on a narrow 

chain around her throat. "Not yet but I haven't stopped

looking.  I won't stop looking." She lifted her chin

and gave a steely stare.  "And I *will* find what I'm

looking for. I believe that."

The rain stopped.

Just like that, the rain stopped. It was strange and

unnerving, and at first Scully thought lightening had

struck again because it was no longer pitch dark.

She turned off her flashlight and studied her 

surroundings as she tried to shake her feelings of 

disorientation and confusion-the same feelings she

Had experienced when Mulder had disappeared.

Mulder.

Skidding down the hill, she was long past the point

of caring about the damage done to her clothes and

therefore unconcerned when she sank into soggy red

clay almost to her knees.  Wading into the edge of the

river she shouted, "Mulder!"

Battling the current he turned his head toward her.

"Scully, stay there."

Then she saw he was dragging a body with him as he

side stroked to the shore. Trudging through the

mud she followed him downstream where Mulder was at

last able to reach the shore.

Falling to her knees beside the body, Scully prepared

to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation, but Mulder

gently placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his

head.  "He's gone.  He was underwater a good ten 

minutes before I could free him."   And she saw 

from the look in his eyes that this bothered Mulder.

She looked down at the body.  It was David Dean Foster.

Somehow Scully wasn't surprised, but then why would 

she be?  Hadn't Foster been what she and Mulder had 

hoped to find?

She heard Mulder sigh.

Scully asked, "You said 'free him.' Was he trapped?"

"In more ways than one."

Scully shot Mulder a quizzical look.

Mulder explained, "He attempted to walk across the 

spillway. Things didn't go as planned. His foot became 

caught-"

Scully finished Mulder's statement for him. "And he 

drowned in the rising flood waters."  

"I tried to save him."

That didn't surprise Scully.  She knew Mulder.  He 

was a good man, a moral man. She reached to cup his

cheek and felt the scratch of his stubble against

her palm and saw the disappointment in his eyes.

His shadowed gaze locked with hers. "It wasn't just 

his foot that was caught, you know.  He had this

whole skewed belief system.  It was insane and it

made no sense, but he was willing to die for it.

He believed in it that much."  Mulder looked at 

Foster's dirty, cold body.  "It wasn't worth killing

or dying for."

             X         X          X

What the hell?   Nick Karas had suddenly found

himself plunged into darkness.  "Agent Scully?"

he called.  "Agent, where are you?"

There was a flash of lightening and Karas saw

a body floating half in, half out of the river. 

"Agent Scully!"  Sliding in the mud, Karas plunged 

into the water.  A sick sense a dread settled over

him as he waded toward the body. It was probably 

Agent Mulder.  Karas didn't want to see the look 

on Agent Scully's face when he had to tell her.  

Lightening and thunder struck almost simultaneously

as Karas neared the corpse. The sound was enough to

completely drown out Karas' shocked gasp.

In the blue-white lightening of the storm Nick Karas

stared into the face of his three year long snark hunt.  

"Son of a bitch," he whispered.

It was David Dean Foster.

"You find something?"  Agent Mulder asked 

from where he and Agent Scully sat at the

river's edge. 

EPILOGUE

Miz Myree's Bar-B-Q

Birmingham, Alabama

12:13am CST

"So you're letting Agent Karas write the report."

Scully removed the cellophane wrapper from her plastic 

fork.

Mulder shrugged.  "It was his case."

"Mmm-hmm."

"You sound doubtful."

Scully smiled.  "I'm trying to decide whether this act

of generosity was motivated by your allergy for writing 

reports or because you were sympathetic to Karas' 

predicament."

Mulder took his slice of pie from the waitress. 

"Because I hate to do paperwork of course,".

She didn't believe him.

"You're looking pensive," Mulder said softly.

Scully raised an eyebrow.  "Pensive?"

"Go with it.  It's an accurate description. What's 

going on in that complicated head of yours?"

Scully leaned forward.  "We're closing a case.  We

have two dead bodies, and we know exactly how they

died.  Not only that, the methods of their deaths

were completely ordinary."

"And you have a problem with that?"

Scully shook her head.  "We have all the answers we

need--concrete, believable answers." She tilted her 

head to the side.  "But those answers really don't

explain anything.  They don't explain how or why." 

Mulder shrugged.  "Isn't the old adage that science

explains how and faith explains why?"

"But in this case science doesn't explain how and

as far as faith is concerned. . ."  She felt as though

she had reached an impasse. Faith was simply that--  

faith.  It was either there or it wasn't.

"There are none so blind as those who will not see."

"Okay, Mulder, now you're just shooting  bull."

Mulder crossed his arms and leaned against the table. 

"They believed, Scully.  Each of them in his own way 

believed they would find what they were looking for."

"Okay, so Hoyte believed.  Lancaster and Foster believed.

Does it strike you as something of a waste that this 

metaphysical Zion was reserved for fanatical killers?"

"Perhaps not. Unless you're calling me a fanatical 

killer." Mulder paused and looked at Scully with a 

curious expression. "Speaking of which, exactly how 

did you find me?"  

She didn't answer.

"Scully?"

She couldn't hide anything from Mulder.  She knew

it and the truth was she didn't want to.  Scully

fingered her cross she confessed,  "Mulder, you may 

believe almost anything but I'm far more particular." 

She reached across the table and took his hand.  

"One of the things I happen to believe in is you."

He stared at her for a long moment then smiled.

"Okay."

She sat back in her chair.  "Still, where this case 

is concerned it looks as though we're in the company 

of killers."

"Not necessarily." Mulder picked up his own fork.  

"When I was doing research I found that the area by

the river was used as a stop on the underground 

railroad during the time of slavery. As far as I can 

tell, faith and belief are morally neutral.  It's 

possible to believe fervently in many things either 

good or bad. It probably is well advised to be careful 

what you choose to believe, never losing sight of 

the facts or reality."

Scully considered that conclusion and decided she 

liked it.  Reaching across the table she dug into 

Mulder's pie.  

"Hey!" he protested.  "You could have ordered your 

own." 

"That's okay.  I'll just have some of yours."

"Typical."

             X          X         X

Mulder watched Scully as she stole forkfuls of his

pie. She looked happy, and he liked that look on her.

All in all things had worked out well.  He had even

managed to connect a few of the dots in the case.

The underground railroad had been targeted by "The

Brotherhood" in the 1850s.  It was possible that

Lancaster had learned some of the areas secrets from 

the terrible secret society to which he had belonged,

and it was possible he had passed that knowledge onto

Foster.

On the other hand hidden in Mark Hoyte's research for 

his pamphlets on the U.S. owing moral restitution to 

mistreated minorities had been a historical account 

of early Spanish explorers of the area claiming to 

have heard tails of a mysterious place called 

"Tuscaluza."  It was supposed to be some utopian

place but the explorers had decided it was yet another

of their 'lost cities of gold.'  The natives had

proceeded to send the explorers on a years long

wild goose chase for Tuscaluza until De Soto's men 

had either deserted, died or returned to Spain.  

Like Nick Karas, they had never found that for which 

they had searched.

Maybe they had never had enough faith that they would 

find the answers?

Thankfully, he and Scully had solved the problem

for Nick Karas, and Mulder was more than happy to

allow Karas to take credit for finding David Dean 

Foster. Karas had earned the right, and as a fringe

benefit it would infuriate Kersh.  It would have 

infuriated Kersh more for Mulder claim the honor, 

but Karas claiming it would be enough.  Karas had

lost years of his life in the search for Foster.

Thinking about the dead fugitive made Mulder 

grimace.  Mulder had watched the man willfully die 

for a passionate but deluded belief.  Even as Foster 

had gone under the last time, the man had clung to 

the belief he was right, that he was being rewarded, 

that his own death and the deaths he had caused were

justified.   Foster had been wrong.

Scully stole another bite of Mulder's pie, and after 

licking the confection off her fork she gave Mulder 

a soft smile.  Suddenly Mulder realized he didn't 

want to die for some nebulous, ill defined belief

or for a X-file he could not really prove.

There were things in this world worth dying for.  

A manila folder in a basement filing cabinet was not 

one of them.  Because, as Mulder playfully swatted 

Scully's hand as she raked the whipping cream off

his slice of pie, Mulder realized he had something to

live *for.*

The truth was, when he really looked at his life he

realized he enjoyed it.  He enjoyed searching for

answers to impossible questions and he enjoyed

asking those questions with this woman at his side.

He had a life to be envied.  He had a job that served

a purpose, a job that he enjoyed, and a woman who

happened to be the most important person in his world

who also happened to believe in him.  Yes, it was a life

worth living. 

He just wished it involved fewer hospitalizations.


End file.
